Posts Tagged ‘Kazakhstan’

There are so many talented bloggers out there. I mean, SCADS. And then there are also some bloggers who ought not. Some of these are the bloggers who believe a blog post is just a bigger version of their Droid screen, a place to give a shout out in textese x 1000 to…I don’t know who. It’s painful. Fortunately I don’t have to read them and don’t. Instead, I read some of you people and I seriously get all verklempt. The humor and honesty and intelligence and creativity. And did I say humor?

I’m a sucker for a humorous blog. The kind where there is thought behind the funny. It can be tight and sometimes elegant, wayward, foxy (and occasionally kinky), lazy-seeming but intentional. I love laughing out loud, by myself, sitting at my desk at home. Or in the office, with my employees sitting at their desks, all diligent and professional, while I’m snickering behind the latest Insurance Journal, sneaking a read on a blog over the top edge of the magazine. You can fire up your computer, hop on-line, and in a matter of seconds, find yourself immersed in the stories of Kazakhstan fortune-tellers or a voice recording artist in Beijing.

The vastness of the blogosphere can be daunting, but somehow I’ve always managed to find blogs that I can sink my teeth into. There are a few I still follow from the old days (pre-iPods) that are actually still writing. Many of those old links are defunct, but a handful have kept the flame alive. More recently I’ve found blogs that are new to me, but which have been going strong for years. I don’t mind coming into their world in the middle of their blogourney so long as they don’t mind picking me up so I can go along for their ride.

Carrie rocks the Manolos

Years ago, I was looking for a pair of shoes, specifically a pair of Manolo Blahníks. For those not so enthralled by women’s footwear, Blahníks were(are?) super-fantastic in the most sexy sense of shoes, made into THE thing for awhile with their regular appearance on the feet of the denizens of HBO’s Sex and the City. Searching, though, I could find nothing that made me want to spend the kind of dough necessary to own a pair of these shoes that would, in Manolo Blahník’s words, “help transform a woman.” I wanted to be transformed, but didn’t have any extra cash burning a hole in my bank account for one of his classic shoey masterpieces. Putting Le Sigh behind me, I search-engined some more, and stumbled across The Manolo. At first I didn’t know what was going on. But as I kept reading, it just didn’t matter. The Manolo wrote on every subject imaginable and wrote with such a hilariously adept humor, I had to cross my legs whilst reading & howling to avoid having an accident.